


Touched By A Gayngel

by dollsome



Category: Know Not Why - Hannah Johnson
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: Destiel goes canon, sort of. After a decade and a half of being dragged along by Amber on the exhausting ride that is Supernatural, Howie is a little invested. And that means the rest of the gang is too. (For the record, Arthur wanted to watch The Queen’s Gambit.)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 22





	Touched By A Gayngel

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I might as well cross this off on my (to use a phrase beloved by news anchors everywhere) 2020 bingo card. I definitely went into this with a distinct air of “I am going to perform an act of self-care SO niche”, but I think I stand by it?? I’ve always thought of Amber as someone who was absolutely full Superwholock in her youth, and chatting with merrysansas filled me with very tickled ideas about how the KNW crew would be reacting to the SPN events of this month. Major shoutout to her for inspiring this act of madness! (And a particular part with lots of "No"s in it, specifically.) :)
> 
> This doesn’t really get into what anyone’s up to professionally, etc., because I plan to save that for a future project! This is just a little check-in with my crew during this most wild of fandom months, in this most wild and wearying of years.
> 
> There are SO MANY POP CULTURE REFERENCES IN THIS that even Gilmore Girls would weep, but I’m not even sorry. I guess I’ve had ten years of “Hmm, what would their takes be on [Insert Pop Culture Thing Here]?” building up.
> 
> If anyone is in need of a primer of what the dang hell has been going on with Supernatural in November of 2020, [this Tumblr PowerPoint](https://cryptcas.tumblr.com/post/635605611103567872/i-am-ready-for-powerpoint-night) and [this Tumblr video](https://quidditchdraco.tumblr.com/post/635921089973895168/this-past-week-on-supernatural) explain it spectacularly.
> 
> Happy end of the coolest month of this curs'd year, y'all!

So, the ungodly, neverending television behemoth known as Supernatural is, for the most part, a thing of Howie’s past. Sure, he and Amber and Mitch hung around consistently for about the first decade of Winchester Bros cruising around in the Impala slaying beasties, being confusingly-and-then-less-confusingly handsome (the first time he watched Supernatural after getting with Arthur, it was a huge relief to go, _Oh, hey, that nerve-racking prickly feeling where you feel like you should look away from the screen is because Cas is HOT_ ), and hurling the word “bitch” at female-shaped demonic entities way too much (which, to be fair: been there. The aughts, man. Not that that’s an excuse).

But hey, unlike most of the characters on Supernatural, he’s only human. So on November 5th of one of the most exhausting years of his life, he gets pulled the hell back in.

He and Arthur have just come back in from walking with their lab/poodle-mix-who-isn’t-quite-a-correct-looking-labradoodle Ellie (named for kickass Laura Dern in Jurassic Park if you ask Howie and Dutch opera singer Elly Ameling if you ask Arthur), a shaggy blonde beauty if there ever was one, when Howie’s phone starts buzzing.

He picks it up thinking that finally the world can know whether Biden’s officially got enough electoral votes to oust the Orange Asshole--they’ve been going on a lot of anxiety walks later while they wait on that news--but instead:

_DESTIEL IS REAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_THIS IS THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Except for the birth of my daughter._

_And visiting Jane Austen’s house._

_And that few weeks Mitch got really into making homemade pastries._

“No fuckin’ way,” Howie mutters, staring at the string of texts from Amber.

“What?” Arthur asks.

“Supernatural stuff.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Arthur says, hanging up his coat and tossing his hat and gloves into the basket by the door. “C’mon, Ell.”

Ellie trots obediently after him, casting a concerned look back at Howie. Which is totally unmerited, thank you very much.

Howie commits to kicking back on the couch so he can fully immerse himself in this sitch. He and Arthur have been desperate for a distraction from the soul-numbing election stress this week (they even watched Cats; CATS), and this, he’s gotta admit, is a kind of distraction he never would’ve even thought to dream of.

Sure, it’s just some haps on a TV show, but it feels big, especially during this shitty year that’s almost totally bereft of actual fun big news. (Unless the presidential election actually follows through on the whole No-more-Trump thing.) Howie has never fully understood the complex online world that Amber inhabits, but he knows enough to know that she’s got like hundreds of friends scattered across the globe, all united in their love of the right romantic combinations of fictional people, and that she’s definitely written about Dean and Cas fucking in at least fifty different emotionally profound scenarios.

_CONGRATS TO THOSE SLOWBURN MOTHERFUCKERS,_ he texts back. _How’d it happen?_

Amber sends him the scene, and he watches it like three times in a row while Arthur starts dinner. Sure, he has no idea what the fuck’s going on or what that weird clanging noise in the background is, and the editing seems a little patchy, and he _knows_ his man Ackles can emote more openly than _that_ , but all the same: it’s pretty thrilling shit.

He’s just got one question.

“So, uh, hey,” Howie says once FaceTime has shown him Amber’s glowing face. “What’s that black goo devouring Cas as soon as he gets the world’s longest-overdue ‘I love you’ out?”

“That’s Cas being dragged into the Empty,” Amber explains.

“The huh?”

“Oh, right. You haven’t watched in forever.”

“Arthur won’t let me. It’s Antiques Roadshow or nothing. JK. This may shock you, but he actually teared up a little bit at the last episode of Broad City.”

“Who didn’t? The Empty’s like the dreary afterlife for angels.”

“Ah,” Howie says. “Just another classic bury-your-gays situation.”

“Please. There’s two more episodes. There’s no way Dean’s not getting Cas out.”

“Have you ever _seen_ television?” Howie says. “This angel just ‘fessed up to being a middle-aged gay man in a way that at least 40% of the viewing audience will actually notice. They’re not gonna let that fly any higher than this.”

“Believe me, Howard,” Amber says. “It is _SO_ endgame. I’ve read so much meticulous meta that would blow your puny mind. Every single writing choice this season has been building to this. Dean is going to get Cas out of the Empty and confess his love back, and have something that’s his, beyond his all-consuming allegiance to his family, and finally be at peace. But, you know, in a nice way, not in a dead way. And if it’s in a dead way, it will absolutely be in a ‘they live happily ever after in heaven’ way. The point is: what’s even left for this show to do, aside from defeating Chuck, if not Dean saving Cas? It’s the perfect parallel to their story starting when Cas pulled Dean out of hell. Did you English major, or did you not English major?”

“Oh, I English majored. And it’s English majoring that taught me that queer representation fucking sucks.”

“Not always!”

“Tell that to Holmes and Watson never getting to suck face. Or, tragically, anything else.”

“Well, not as much lately, then! I’m telling you. It’s gonna happen. The show’s been on for long enough that they’ve finally figured out how not to be disappointing assholes anymore. Oh, God, if they kiss -- they _have_ to kiss, right?? -- I’m going to die and Mitch is going to raise our child alone. That’s so sad. But … I want to say … worth it?”

“You’ll have died doing what you loved,” Howie says. “Being a huge freak over fake people pressing their beautiful faces together.”

“Exactly! Oh, I cannot wait. How is next week so far away?”

“The calendar, milady. She’s a brutal dictator.” Ellie pads in and gives Howie a look that says, _Arthur won’t give me any samples of what he’s currently cooking, but you will cave under my adorable gaze. You always do._ She’s got a point. “Okay, I gotta go help Arthur with dinner. Congratulations on this win for the planet, definitely unmatched by any other event going on this week.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Keep me posted, DON.”

“DON?”

‘Delusionally Optimistic Nerd. I literally just made that up. Being bored enough to do crossword puzzles and sudoku with Arthur this year, it’s really changed me. I’m like that ScarJo movie where she unlocks all the parts of her brain and becomes unstoppable.”

“You’re the worst person I’ve ever met, probably.”

“You won’t be saying that when whoever’s in charge of Supernatural right now totally blows the ending. And I am not using ‘blows’ in an even remotely homoerotic sense.”

“Oh, my God, Howie, it’s Andrew Dabb. Have you been living under a rock?”

“You kids and your dabbing. I’ve been watching higher-quality fare. You’ll be sad to hear that there’s still no word on a second season of Tiger King, by the way. Hoo boy! Talk about queer rep.”

“Stop ruining the happiest night of my life,” Amber barks. “I have to go reblog one million gifsets. And, y’know, take care of my child. GOODBYE.”

“DESTIEL, _WHOO_!” comes Mitch’s voice in the background; Howie catches a brief glimpse of him and Amber’s resultant giggling before the call ends.

“Dare I ask?” Arthur says when Howie walks into the kitchen, Ellie trailing triumphantly behind him.

“You’ll regret it,” Howie says, “but I’m gonna tell you anyway.”

“Oh boy,” says Arthur.

***

_So hey,_ Howie texts Amber the next day, _what’s with all these interviews with Misha saying that was his final scene he shot?_

_He is LYING,_ Amber texts back.

Howie screenshots a chunk of the article he’s got open:

_“I think Castiel’s ending on the show is really just what I would have wanted. I knew the ending that he was going to meet with for about a year, and I was really happy about it. And I’m still happy about it,” Misha said in an interview with Entertainment Tonight. “I’m really curious to see how the audience responds to the end for Cas. But it feels important. It feels like it makes his arc on the show meaningful, not just in terms of the mythology of the show, but in terms of a message for the greater world and our particular moment in history. I’m very happy with it.”_

Amber hits him with a “You sit on a throne of lies!” gif from Elf.

There’s no refuting that one.

“I guess our only hope now is that Misha sits on a throne of lies, huh, Ellie-Bellie?” Howie says, clutching Ellie’s face in his hands.

“What’s happening to you?” Arthur inquires from where he’s scrolling through non-fictional news on his iPad.

“Would that I knew, boo,” Howie says. “Would that I knew.”

Then Ellie sneezes in his face. Which feels about right.

***

Finally, one million years-feeling week containing one very dope ‘Biden secures the electoral votes’ day later, the second-to-last episode airs. Even Arthur’s intrigued enough to tune in with Howie, which is saying something.

But then: no Cas to be found. Except for that phone call thing, which was super messed up. Poor Dean runs up the stairs in search of his angel beloved just to get confronted with Lucifer’s seriously disappointing mug.

Afterward, Arthur puts on an old episode of Bake-Off for some soothing energy, and Howie reaches for his phone to check in on Amber.

“How ya doing?” he asks, a little wary.

“Oh, it is SO ON,” Amber says. She’s buzzing with the weird kind of excitement she mostly used to get during midterms and finals at school. “The bloody handprint on his shoulder on prominent display, in a clear allusion to when Cas gripped him tight and raised him from perdition??”

“Man,” Howie says, “that just never sounds less gay.”

“I know, right?” Amber effuses. “And Dean sleeping on a pile of empty beer bottles, trying to drown his grief?? And clearly projecting his feelings onto Miracle the dog?? Refusing to believe that he’s just a killer after Cas’s love confession made him totally reevaluate himself and his value? God, what’s even left after the way this episode ended, besides Dean finally getting to openly reciprocate Cas’s feelings?”

“It would be very like this show,” Arthur says, leaning in so Amber can see him on the screen, “not to bring Castiel back.”

“Quiet, you,” Amber scolds.

“Yeah, shut up, man.” Howie bumps Arthur’s shoulder with his. “You’re gonna jinx it.”

“Maybe it’s better to lower your expectations about the finale of a show that’s killed off nearly every woman, queer character, or minority who’s ever appeared.”

“I’m telling you, it’s become self-aware this season,” Amber says. “It’s going to atone.”

“I just think there’s more trustworthy television out there,” Arthur says somberly. “At the risk of sounding like Raymond Holt from Brooklyn 99, which Howie always says I do, The Durrells in Corfu is really consistently excellent throughout its entire run.”

“You are Raymond Holt,” Howie says. “You ARE him.”

“And you’re Jake Peralta,” Arthur retorts, “so where does that leave us?”

“In a very uncomfy position,” Howie admits.

“This is why we need to stop having this conversation.” Arthur sighs. “It always ends like this.”

“Agreed,” Amber says. “From this Amy/Gina hybrid: STOP. And obviously I didn’t sleep on The Durrells, Arthur. It’s almost completely perfect television, and I cherished every god damned minute, and Keeley Hawes should be knighted for those Louisa Durrell microexpressions. But this is different. I’ve watched this show since 2005.”

“I suspect it would behoove you to be cautious,” says Arthur. “That’s all.”

“You know,” Howie says, considering his beloved’s demeanor and casual use of the word ‘behoove’, “you’re not so un-Cas-like yourself.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. I’ve seen how your eyes glaze over every time he shows up onscreen.”

“They do not _glaze_. They might sparkle a little. I guess,” Howie throws in oh-so-casually, “that means I’m kind of the Dean of this situation.”

“No,” Amber says right away.

“No,” Arthur agrees.

Jerks.

“Oh, come on! I’m funny! I’m tortured! I’ve got plenty of unresolved daddy issues! I used to have mad game with the ladies back in the day before I got my head on straight. Well. Gay. And who’s to say a man can’t be in love with his used 2012 Subaru Impreza with just as much swagger as Dean rocks for the Impala?”

“As an ardent Dean girl since the year 2005,” says Amber, “I cannot possibly look at you that way. Yuck.”

“You’ve always kind of reminded me of my long-time TV crush,” Arthur says consolingly.

“Oh yeah?” Howie says, perking up. “Who’s that?”

“Alton Brown. You know, from Good Eats.”

Howie frowns.

“What? You’re both funny, like you said. And I know you used to spike your hair in the 2000s. I’ve seen pictures.”

“Much like good ol’ S-P-N should’ve been back in the year 2010 to preserve all our sanity,” Howie says, “this phone call is canceled.”

“GET READY FOR THE DESTIEL ENDGAME,” Amber says, very chill, in parting. “There’s no way this show would feature Misha the last time doing a frigging _phone call_ that wasn’t even Cas! You hear me? There’s no WAY!”

“There’s no wayyyy!!” comes Mitch’s voice before the call ends.

Oh man. That’s one Destiel-confident household.

“You should send her that gif of Amy Poehler saying ‘Lower your expectations’ and doing that little … arm dance.” Arthur imitates it, lifting his arms jauntily. Ellie glares at him as the movement disrupts her comfortable resting position on his lap.

“Man,” Howie says, “you got to know that one well that time you fucked up your arm and I had to handle all the meals.”

“We really bonded, Amy and I,” Arthur agrees.

“Just between us,” Howie adds, “I’ll take that Alton Brown thing. I’ve seen how your eyes glaze over at episodes of Good Eats Reloaded.”

“They don’t _glaze over_ \--”

“I’m just sorry I haven’t gone almost completely bald, like 2020 zaddy Alton. These luscious locks must really cause suffering for you.”

“I still don’t totally get what ‘zaddy’ means, but I know enough to know I really hate you saying it.”

“How about ‘gayngel’? See, that’s more your vibe.”

“Oh, that I love and support,” Arthur says.

“The not-balding zaddy and the gayngel,” Howie says majestically. “How come we aren’t anyone’s OTP?”

Arthur tilts his head. (What a gayngel.) “What?”

“Exactly,” says Howie.

***

And then the finale -- the true, for real last episode ever -- happens.

It is not great. Even by ‘We had to throw this together during a pandemic, and therefore you shouldn’t judge us!’ standards, it’s not great. Various incarnations of “Carry On, My Wayward Son” keep playing, and it strangely has the effect of making you want to do the opposite. And that’s not even getting into the Jared Padalecki old man wig situation.

It’s a suspiciously short episode of television, but somehow also not short enough.

“Oh,” Howie says when the last frame of the episode officially fades away. “Oh no.”

He and Arthur stare at each other for a long time.

“It’s just a TV show?” Arthur attempts.

“They were probably really restricted in what they could do,” Howie says, trying to rationalize the horrors that just assaulted his very being. “Misha probably couldn’t get back to Vancouver to film. It’s a pandemic, man.”

“Have I mentioned how strange it is that you’re on a first-name basis with this person?”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s hilarious on social media, that’s all. And he’s married. And probably straight.”

“Oh good,” says Arthur. “That’s absolutely what I was worried about. You leaving me for Misha.”

“Have you seen that guy’s soulful baby blues?” Howie demands. “Get worried.”

Arthur leans over to kiss him. “Consider me warned.” He glances at the TV again. “It’s a shame. Amber was so sure.”

“Forget the toilet paper shortage of spring 2020,” Howie says. “This is the way the world ends.”

“Not with a Dean-and-Castiel bang, but a whimper?”

Arthur literally always calls Cas ‘Castiel’, which is one of those very Arthur things that Howie really likes.

“Ha ha, nice,” Howie says, fist-bumping him. (Arthur has long since leaned into the art of the fist bump.) “But hey, I’m gonna need you to cool it on the jokes, like, immediately if you want to survive the rest of 2020. Or Amber is going to kill you.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to murder someone via FaceTime call.”

“Damn, dude. It’s like you’ve never seen a single episode of Supernatural.”

“I wish I hadn’t. You dragged me into this. You’ve dragged me into this every time you’ve randomly regressed over the past decade.”

“It hasn’t happened that much,” Howie says, scoffing.

“It’s happened every time Dean and Castiel have some kind of physical contact and the internet tells Amber about it, and then Amber tells you.”

“They’re good huggers! So sue me!”

“This time around, I wanted to watch The Queen’s Gambit.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s watch a show about chess. Sounds rad.”

“It’s supposed to be very compelling. And Anya Taylor-Joy is supposed to be a revelation. She has a really interesting screen presence.”

“Hey, mention that! Mention that to Amber when we call her. If she’s thinking Emma, then she can’t think about all her Destiel dreams being crushed into nothingness. Throw in a reference to Mr. Knightley’s bare ass if you can make it sound natural.”

“Oh, that will work out fine. When am I ever _not_ talking about Mr. Knightley’s bare ass?”

“I’m just saying, it’s a topic she can get going on. ANYTHING THAT’S NOT DESTIEL, MAN.”

“I hate that once I would’ve thought you were just slightly mispronouncing the name of a brand of turkey,” Arthur says, “but now I actually know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s love, bitch,” Howie says. “Not to, ya know. Use the word ‘bitch’ all willy-nilly. Not cool.”

“I’m pretty sure that if you went a day without using the word ‘bitch’ all willy-nilly, you’d explode.”

“Please. I am way more evolved than that.”

“All right, bitch,” Arthur says cheerily.

“Hey, that’s not fair. If I don’t get to use it, then you don’t get to use it.”

“I don’t think that’s written down anywhere,” Arthur says, “bitch.”

“You know,” says Howie, “it’s really distasteful to be this chipper when someone’s soul died tonight.”

“You’re exaggerating, right? It’s not even a good show, and Amber’s so level-headed most of the time.”

“Um,” Howie says, “exaggerating. Sure, bitch.”

***

“I want you to remember,” Howie says, once he’s finally worked up the courage to FaceTime Amber (no Arthur; Howie suspected he couldn’t provide the necessary sensitivity), “that you’re an adult human woman of over thirty years of age. You’ve got a career, and the world’s most kickass baby, and a husband to make you tacos whenever you want.”

“No, I know,” Amber says. Her voice is weirdly blank and measured. Howie’s pretty sure there’s nothing behind her eyes where her soul should be. She’s pulled her hair back into one of those sloppy buns that only come out when she’s been crushed by the universe. “I totally know that.”

“And, you know, we’re in the middle of a raging pandemic,” Howie goes on. “We’ve got real problems to worry about.”

“Absolutely,” Amber says.

“Good. Glad you’re doing okay. Hey, um. Are you sitting in the bathtub? With clothes on?”

“I’m fine,” Amber says.

Howie stares at the phone screen and tries to contemplate the level of psychological despair it would take to make someone sit in the bathtub with their back against the outer side instead of the wall side of the tub. What drives a person to that??

Supernatural, apparently.

At least there’s not water in it. As far as he can tell.

“JUSTICE FOR DESTIEL!” Mitch cries as he appears in the background of the shot, waving baby Janie’s arms in the air.

“ _Too soon, Mitchell_ ,” Amber snaps, whirling around to face her husband. Howie’s not totally sure, but he thinks her voice might go deep like she’s possessed by Satan.

“Right.” Mitch hangs his head, chastened. “ _Justice for Destielllll_ ,” he adds in a whisper, waving Janie’s arms much more somberly.

“We made it through Game of Thrones,” Howie says. “We can make it through this too.”

“God, I hate Game of Thrones!” Amber fumes. “But at least we always knew the ending was going to suck. What else were D&D even capable of once they ran out of source material?”

“And we didn’t … always know Supernatural was going to suck?” Howie says delicately.

“I mean -- Jaime abandoning Brienne for Cersei was shitty enough, but now I had to watch it happen again? Cas is just, as far as the boys know, _abandoned_ in the Empty while Dean and Sam cry and snuggle against a wall for fifteen minutes. Why does incest always win?”

“Does it? Was that, er, the message of that episode about brotherly love transcending death itself?”

“It wasn’t NOT the message. Believe me, Howie, this was a win for Wincest.”

Howie thinks again of the complex online world of Amber’s that he barely understands, and shudders.

“I guess I can see how it could be construed as Wincestuous,” he says.

“Let’s just stop watching TV and read books,” Amber says, with a real vicious air of savagery considering she’s the biggest bookworm Howie knows.

“Whoa,” Howie says. “Like, I know this is bad, but let’s not get drastic here.”

“I mean it! I’m just going to read _books_ now! I’m finally getting around to Elena Ferrante. It’s time. This is my life now.”

“I’m sure Elena Ferrante would be really touched by your enthusiasm.”

“Knowing my luck, it’s probably Andrew Dabb behind the penname,” Amber grumbles.

“Hey, think about this, though: at least Dean and Cas are in heaven together, right? Dean might have, uh, not really been proactive in trying to get him out, but boy, was that a happy gay smile when Bobby mentioned his angel. I know that smile. I’ve smiled that smile. That smile definitely means he and Cas are going to get up to some good gay nonsense right quick.”

“Oh, sure. If Dean ever stops _driving around waiting for his brother to die_.”

“I can see there’s no salvaging this particular situation,” Howie says gravely. Attempting a tone shift, he says, “Hey, remember how mad you used to get over Buffy and Angel? Cordelia, right?”

“Aughhhhh!” Amber tries to fling her head back against the wall, but there isn’t any -- just some shower curtain at her left side.

“Shit,” Howie says, “wrong tactic. I see that now. Hey, how about some good new TV? You know, people are NOT exaggerating about Ted Lasso. That shit is _transcendently_ adorable.”

“Mitch, bring me some books!” Amber yowls. “Long ones with tiny print and unforgivingly gigantic paragraphs!”

“Sure thing, Ambie-bee!” Mitch calls back.

“Just leave me to die,” Amber tells Howie.

“Go hug your baby and your hubby,” Howie orders, “and then write your fanfiction fixing this whole hot mess with some piping hot yet achingly tender Dean and Cas loving.”

“Fix-it fic,” Amber mumbles.

“What?”

“It’s called fix-it fic.”

“That makes an incredible amount of sense.”

“And it’s not about sex. It’s about all the things they never got to say to each other. And how much that would’ve meant for their character arcs to finally be able to say it, and for all the people watching who saw themselves in Dean and Cas.”

“I get that,” Howie says truthfully. “Well, then you make them say ‘em. You got this, Ambie-bee.”

“Only Mitch is allowed to call me that.”

“Fair enough.”

“Would you want to read, like, Don Quixote?” Mitch calls from where he’s on book patrol.

“Sure!” Amber yells back with a ruthless air of self-destruction. “ _WHY NOT._ ”

Howie cringes.

***

“So, how was it??” Kristy asks during the weekly O.G. Craft Store Squad video chat the next day. Arthur is video chatting with his sister and her kids in the living room, so Howie hides away in the bedroom to break the bad news. “Did they get to live happily ever after?? I’m still not going to watch it, because onscreen blood makes me want to barf and I can never really click with shows without girls on them, but I hope Dean pulled his angel boyfriend out of hell and they maybe went to celebrate by getting a nice lunch or something! Like Good Omens all over again! But I hope this actually had kissing. Did it have kissing?”

“There was no kissing,” Howie reports bleakly. “Although it was touch and go with Sam and Dean for a sec there.”

“Aren’t they the brothers?” Kristy asks, wrinkling her nose.

“There was some forehead action of a questionable nature.”

“Oh,” Kristy says, with the sort of extra-supportive politeness that comes out when she’s 100% weirded out. “Was it okay besides that?”

“It was THE FUCKING WORST,” Cora says, “because it’s FUCKING SUPERNATURAL.”

“You watched it?” Howie asks, surprised.

“Hell no,” Cora says. “I told you. I’m never going back there. I’m not about that basic shit. But they were never going to let Dean get lovingly railed by the hot angel who is his soulmate, because this show is a cowardly fucking bag of dicks.”

“It’s too bad you didn’t infiltrate the writer’s room in time,” Howie says. “I think you could’ve really opened some hearts and minds.”

“I’m sorry,” Kristy says sincerely. “I know you really cared about that romance. I get it. If Luke and Lorelai had broken up in the Gilmore Girls revival, I probably would have cut off all my hair and joined a nunnery or something.”

“Big same,” says Cora. Kristy and Cora’s deep and everlasting Gilmore Girls thing will never be fully comprehensible to Howie’s brain.

“I watched some of those compilation videos with the romantic songs on YouTube,” Kristy says, “and it looks like Destiel had something really special. Howie, you should check some of them out if you’re hurting.”

“Pfft,” Howie says. “I didn’t really care about them. This is Amber’s whole thing. I’ve always just been along for moral support, ya know?”

Kristy nods with all the care in the world, as if distance-teaching a bunch of kindergarteners isn’t draining her soul out at all and there’s nothing she wants more than to support her friend in a time of TV-induced crisis.

“Sure,” he goes on, compelled by the power of her compassionate stare, “it maybe seemed, like, societally important that Dean Winchester become the unexpected late-in-show queer rep we’ve never really had before in our shitty-ass world. But we’ve got Schitt’s Creek now, we’ve got the genius son of the eyebrows dad from American Pie out here straight up killing it, and I’m pretty sure two grizzled priests made out on that Exorcist show I never got around to watching, so, like, who cares?”

“There’s one video set to ‘Hoax’ by TaySway,” Kristy says soothingly.

“Maybe send me that,” mutters Howie, who, like every other human being alive, is not immune to the profound quarantine-era power of _folklore_. “But, like, I’ll watch it with a normal amount of emotional investment.”

“This is why you assholes should’ve listened to me about Person of Interest,” Cora declares. “You haven’t felt gay chemistry light up a TV screen until you’ve seen Amy Acker erotically threaten Sarah Shahi with a clothes iron.”

“Say what?” Howie says.

“Cute!” Kristy chirps.

“Promise me you’ll check it out. Every day that you don’t, you bitches are only hurting yourselves.”

‘Does this friend group have a ‘bitch’ problem?” Howie muses.

“How’s Amber holding up?” Kristy asks Howie.

“Oh, you know. She’s got a kid and a Mitch and a heavy work-from-home workload, she only has so much time to be upset about the finale of a TV show.”

“And how much time is that, exactly?” asks Cora.

“I dunno, I’d say like 97%. It keeps getting complicated in ways I can’t really, like, wrap my mind around. There was something about Putin for a while there?”

“Of course Putin watches fucking Supernatural,” scowls Cora.

“I don’t think that was it.”

“But you can’t be _sure_ it wasn’t.”

“No,” Howie admits, looking down in shame.

“You know,” Cora says with an exasperated sigh, “Black Sails literally has gay pirates everywhere, but nobody ever listened to me about that one either. Dumb bitches, dumb bitches all!”

“I think I’ll send Amber a Sorry For Your Loss card,” Kristy decides.

“That might actually be a pretty tonally appropriate reaction,” Howie admits.

***

FaceTiming a few days later, Amber holds up a greeting card that says _Condolences for your loss_ on the front.

“Oh hey,” Howie says. “Look at that.”

She opens the card. A tinny version of “I Will Remember You” by Sarah McLachlan starts playing. In Kristy’s loopy cursive and pink ink, it reads:

_Dear Amber,_

_I’m so sorry about Destiel!!! They gaze at each other so soulfully, and deserved better._

_Thinking of you in this tough time! (It’s tough for a lot of reasons, of course, but this one didn’t need to be heaped on top of everything else! Gay angel love should prevail!!! Stupid 2020.)_

_Love,_

_Kristy_

“That,” Howie says, “is Kristy being Kristy.”

“She is literally a teacher,” says Amber, “and she took the time to send me a bereavement card over my doomed OTP.”

“Yup,” says Howie.

“This helps, actually,” Amber says after a moment, and sways a little to the Sarah McLachlan of it all. Howie sways along too, in solidarity.

***

The next day, Amber holds up another card: a notecard with a nice floral design on the front. Once Howie’s had time to take in that loveliness, she opens it.

In Cora’s familiar jagged handwriting, turned even more hardcore by the black Sharpie she used, is:

_THEY SHOULD’VE FUCKED. FUCK SPN._

_xoxoxoxo,_

_CORA_

“That’s very touching,” says Howie.

“I’ve officially gotten cards over this situation. Cards. Multiple.”

“Is it making you reevaluate some things?”

“Hell no. This remains a travesty.”

“You do you, girl.”

Amber wrinkles her nose at him.

“I thought I’d try out sort of a sassy-gay-bff-from-a-movie thing,” Howie explains. “You know, since you’ve suffered such a terrible gayness-related blow in another area of your life.”

“You are hilarious.”

“I’d do that sassy snap thing, but as you know, I physically cannot snap my fingers.”

“I do know. It’s very weird.”

“It’s not _very_ weird. That card is very weird. It’s, like, a normal thing that a sizable chunk of the population can’t do, probably.”

“Oh honey,” Amber says, in a pretty decent sassy gay bff voice. Or maybe it’s just genuine pity.

***

Life kind of settles down into Covid badness sweeping the news alongside headlines about a certain orange someone behaving with about as much dignity as a syphilis-deranged king from the Middle Ages.

Howie is scrolling through the bleakness of his News app and wondering when he’ll next see his mom or his brother -- 2050, maybe? -- or find a reason to put on outside world-appropriate pants, when a text comes through.

_IT’S CANON IN SPANISH._

That’s worthy of a call.

“Um,” Howie says, “what? Or should I say: _que_??”

“Fifteen-eighteen aired in Mexico,” Amber says, a zealous burning in her eyes. “In the Latin American voiceover dub, Dean doesn’t say ‘Don’t do this, Cas!’ Oh no, my friend. He says … gird your god damned loins …” She adjusts the phone so Mitch comes into frame, too, with little Janie on his lap. Together, they (minus Janie) shout, “YO A TI, CAS!”

Janie offers up some garbled version of, “ _A ti, Cas!”_ to support her parents.

“And that means …?” says Howie, who really wishes he’d paid more attention in high school Spanish.

“ME TOO, CAS!” Amber howls.

Mitch makes celebratory siren noises. “ _Mweh-mweh-mwehhhhhh!_ ”

“NO SHIT,” Howie cries.

Like, sorry. This is a fun development.

“SHIT!” Amber answers giddily. “Oh. Shit.” She claps her hands gently over Janie’s ears. “I don’t want to swear in front of her. She’s at that stage where she’s starting to copy everything we say.”

“She’ll understand how important this is someday, babe,” Mitch says.

Amber stares fondly at her daughter. “She will, won’t she?”

“God, she’s cool,” Howie says. “Like having a Baby Yoda all your own. If she had the ears and the little underbite, she’d be perfect.” 

“If I wasn’t floating on the high of network bigwigs trying to cover up what was once a mutual canon Destiel storyline and failing and getting frigging busted,” Amber says serenely, “I’d be so annoyed at you right now.”

While Amber stares dreamily into space, Mitch mimes the shape of Baby Yoda ears over Janie’s head.

Howie sneaks him a thumbs up. The guy gets it.

***

“What’s going on now?” Arthur asks when they’ve sat down to their tiny two-person Thanksgiving feast. He’s taken to asking for updates on Supernatural current events a few times a day, a fact that makes Howie feel even more desperate with love for him than usual.

“Misha took to Twitter to assure everyone that the Spanish dub was the work of a ‘rogue translator,'” Howie recaps. “That backfired.”

Arthur preens a little. “I suppose he’s not looking so great now, is he?”

“Au contraire. This dude has soulfully reiterated his commitment to listening and learning from the queer community.”

“Maybe he should listen to this member of the queer community and just reshoot the ending and kiss Dean so I can know a moment’s peace.”

“I will give you a million dollars if you make a Twitter account and send him that.”

“A million dollars, hmm?”

“I’ve got several off-shore bank accounts and a deep respect for Twitter shenanigans.” And then, something occurs to him. “Hey. I think I’ve got an even better idea.”

“Than me Tweeting your celebrity crush asking him to make out with his male colleague?”

“Hey.” Howie points his brussels-sprout-holding fork at Arthur. “Jensen and Misha aren’t just colleagues. They’re BROS. And yes. Better even than that.”

“I should be afraid, shouldn’t I, Ell?” Arthur says, looking down at her.

Ellie barks. But probably just because she wants in on that piece of reasonably-sized Costco turkey breast (because who can even justify getting a regular-sized turkey in this cursed year) deliciousness.

***

The next day, Howie puts his genius plan into action. And is immediately overcome with profound doubts.

For one thing, Arthur looks seriously uncomfortable in flannel.

“I feel like I need to cut down the nearest tree,” he says. “Like the shirt will punish me if I don’t. For not lumberjacking hard enough.”

“At least you don’t look like you’re about to flash an unsuspecting lady in a parking garage,” Howie grumbles, trying to adjust the tan trenchcoat into some kind of normal look and failing, just failing. “I can’t believe you even have one of these.”

“It’s a normal kind of coat to have.”

“It is _so_ not! There’s one dude who can pull this look off, and he’s a dead gay angel.”

Sure, Arthur is the more Cas-ish of soul, and Howie doesn’t care how Alton Brown he himself is -- he still thinks he’s got some of that Dean Winchester moxy. But the fact remains that Arthur is taller and his sandy hair puts him more in the Dean category, compared to Howie’s darker hair, and that’s just gonna have to be good enough for today’s enterprise.

They’re out in their tiny fenced back yard, which is covered in snow but is also just gonna have to friggin’ cut it as heaven, and Howie sends a thematically appropriate prayer to the sky that the neighbors are being socially irresponsible at Black Friday sales and therefore aren’t outside to hear them.

Howie sets up his phone on the video record option, presses the red button, and scampers backwards. When he and Arthur got the phone tripod, it was entirely to make a Twelve Months of Ellie in Amazing Costumes calendar for Howie’s mom (who is big into the grandpuppy life). They never could have foreseen … this.

But it’s late 2020, and this is where they’re at right now. 

“Ahem,” Howie says. “Action, I guess.”

He turns away, gazing at nothing and trying to seem angelic. He hurls another quick prayer into the universe that nobody’s about to witness this.

“Hey, Cas,” Arthur says, in low, rugged tones of Dean frigging Winchester.

“Holy shit, cut,” Howie says.

“What?” Arthur furrows his brow.

“You do a weirdly accurate Dean,” Howie says, feeling suddenly sweaty despite the frigid temps. (Though that could be thanks to this perv coat.) “I wasn’t prepared.”

Arthur shrugs. In his spot-on Dean voice, he says, “Don’t let this awaken anything in you, man.” And winks. Winks!

“Too fuckin’ late,” Howie declares.

“Stick to the script,” Arthur orders in his own usual Arthur-y voice.

This is very confusing, Howie decides as he turns away again.

“Hey, Cas,” says secret professional Jensen Ackles impersonator Arthur Kraft.

_!!!_ says Howie’s every primal instinct.

“Dean,” Howie says, trying to sound a little like a garbage disposal, but in a lowkey-sexy way. (Which is, for the record, a TALL ORDER.) “You’re here. ...Already.”

They then proceed to act out the reunion scene Howie wrote over a sort of embarrassingly devoted period of two hours with Arthur throwing in suggestions over his shoulder every once in a while. Ellie even has a cameo as Dean’s dog Miracle. Because if you’re going to write a Destiel happily ever after scene and shoot it on your iPhone, well, you’re going to introduce Cas to his dog child, Miracle. That’s just facts.

***

After a day of perhaps the most searingly intense couple’s bonding experience in human history (the mortifying ideal of being known has nothing on the mortifying ideal of trying to embody a popular TV character whose stance on talking is “Batman? Could talk lower!” in front of the person you hope to have sex with for the rest of your days), Howie sends the hastily-edited video Amber’s way, along with the note, _Black Friday gift_.

Amber calls him fifteen minutes later. He accepts the call to see her lying on her side in bed with wireless earbuds in, Janie snoozing next to her.

“Howie,” she says, her voice quiet (sleeping baby and all) and thick with sentimental tears, “you freaking _nerd_.”

“Oh well,” Howie says modestly, “y’know.”

“I cannot believe you guys did that. I would honestly be a little less shocked if the CW released a clip of Jeson and Misha doing that. And, like …” She lowers her voice, leaning closer to the phone screen. “Arthur is sort of a hot Dean.”

“I know,” Howie says. “Don’t let it awaken anything in you.”

“Too late.”

“Hey, that’s what I said!”

“You were a respectable Cas,” Amber adds diplomatically, which makes Howie know for sure that he was in no way a passable Cas. “And I really liked the dialogue. It makes me feel like you were really paying attention to all my rambles about the nuances of their characterization and relationship development over the years.”

“Duh. What else am I going to pay attention to? Actual existence?”

“Thank you for doing this incredibly sweet and dorky thing for me. Both of you. And Ellie. Who was a _very_ good Miracle, by the way.”

“Yeah, I’m not passing that on. She’s already such a diva. So, uh--” Howie tries to steel himself for terrible news. “Are you going to put it online for your Destiel homies?”

“Nah,” says Amber. “You’ve suffered enough.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“I am going to describe it in great loving detail on my Tumblr, though.”

“Permission granted. As long as you describe me as ‘a distinctly handsomer Misha Collins.’”

“Sure, Jan.”

“Sweet. Everything’s coming up Howie.” He considers Amber’s expression. “How you feeling now?”

Amber sighs. “I don’t know why this hit me so hard. It was so stupid. I thought I was totally over it, you know? Like it was this thing I cared about back when I was young, and lost, and confused about life, and pining for someone who didn’t like me. And now I’ve got a job I love, and a kid and a husband I love infinitely more, and it still just … tore me apart, to think we were going to finally get it and then to not get it. It’s this shitty year. It’s hard to think that this huge slice of Jane’s life is going to be _this_ , when she should be doing normal baby stuff, and we don't know when it’s going to go back to normal or how many more people are going to suffer and die, and … it just would’ve been really nice. To have this one big, stupid thing that’s been in my heart for so long _work out_.”

“I get it,” Howie says. “Honestly? I was pretty bummed about it, too. Like, sincerely.”

“You were?”

“Kristy told me about this video on YouTube set to ‘Hoax’ by TaySway and I watched it like twenty-five times.”

“Oh my God, I found that one! Isn’t it ruinous?”

“It’s fucking ruinous! So good. Man. People really do put some quality things on the internet when they’re not actively tearing at the seams of democracy and spreading misinformation during a pandemic.”

“People do indeed.”

“And I don’t care what that finale says. Those gazes and touches and gestures of sacrifice were romantic as shit.”

“They really, really were,” Amber says with an emotional little laugh.

“It’s kind of cool that there was a real onscreen love confession at all,” Howie says, trying to think about it generously. “It would’ve been easier for them to not try at all. And hey, it was probably hard to try to get the approval of the higher-ups for anything more than that.”

“It’s something,” Amber says after a moment.

“We’ll always have the rogue translator. And possible rogue translator solidarity in Italy and India, if you believe the rumors.”

Amber laughs. “I miss being with you, dork. This is the longest we’ve ever been apart when we’ve lived in the same place.”

“Believe me,” Howie says, “I know it.”

“And hey, at least this stupid show gave us a pretty fun November. I think in a way, I really needed that.”

“I think we all did. We feasted on the highest-quality memes in human history, and that’s something no one can take away from us.”

“And now I guess it’s time to put that hope to bed,” Amber says wistfully, “and see what’s next.”

“I guess it is,” Howie agrees. “I guess we could make Arthur happy and do The Queen’s Gambit.”

“Oh, hey, yeah! Anya Taylor-Joy! Sure, I’ll follow her anywhere after Emma.”

“Ahh, Emma. Mr. Knightley’s bare ass.” Off Amber’s look, he says, “What? I know how important that is to you. I just thought you’d like the reminder in this time of trouble. That’s called being a good friend.”

“A great friend,” Amber says, rolling her eyes with sincere affection. (A very Amber-y feat.) “The best.”

***

Later, Howie gets a text from Mitch.

_Hey bro. Thank you and Artie x1000000000 for ur masterpiece video! It really made Ambie happy._

Howie texts back, _Thanks. Our pleasure/pain._

He watches the typing bubbles dance for a long time, and then Mitch says:

_She’s been really feelin the stress lately. Our fams (and u guys!) not being able to see Janie has been hard. I think it helped to remember how it feels to care about something that doesnt really matter but does REALLY MATTER, u know?_

_I was thinking of back when we first started watching SPN together, when she would come home on winter break and bring the dvds of the first few seasons over and never let me change the disc cuz she thought I’d scratch it. 12 years ago!!_

Howie thinks back to the three of them squeezed on the couch in his parents’ living room, Amber sending distrustful looks Mitch’s way and occasionally laughing at something he said about the episode and then being furious with herself. Mitch won a tiny part of her esteem by being unabashedly moved by the episode where Dean got trapped by a djinn and dreamed of a normal life where his mom was still alive.

_We’ve really been thru it, us and spn,_ Howie texts.

_The end of an era,_ Mitch agrees, _with a boss REAL finale, thanks to you 2._

Okay. Howie has to ask somebody: _I was a shitty Cas, wasn’t I? I know I can trust you to be real w/ me._

After a few seconds, Mitch answers:

_Hey. The Mish is a tough act to beat._

_But yeah_

_U were pretty rough._

_(Gif of Chrissy Teigan grimacing)_

_Cas is awkward_

_But you were awkward in a diff way_

_Like worse_

_But u tried!_

_Arthur was (100 emoji)???????????????_

_I know,_ Howie texts back. _And now I have to live with the fact that he’ll never put that flannel on again._

Mitch: _Hey man. Miracles happen. (Angel emoji)_

Howie laughs, and decides to put down the phone. Sure, the shiny lure of omnipresent technology is great, but some things are infinitely better.

“What are you texting about?” Arthur asks, smiling slightly as he looks up from Piranesi.

“Miracles,” Howie replies, and closes the slight space between them.

***

On Saturday, Howie’s phone buzzes at around 11:30 PM, startling him out of sleep. Today was one of those ‘Let’s go to bed at 10 PM like senior citizens’ days at La Casa de Kraft & Jenkins, as opposed to the ‘Let’s stay up until 3 AM watching Parks and Rec because time is an illusion and nothing matters’ days.

He looks at the new text from Amber.

_OBAMA SHIPS DESTIEL._

“Here we fuckin’ go,” Howie mutters.

“What’s up?” Arthur asks sluggishly beside him. There’s the jingle of Ellie’s collar when she looks up from her bed on the floor.

Howie holds his phone in front of Arthur’s face.

Arthur nods solemnly. “That tracks.”

“You know what?” Howie says, snuggling sleepily against Arthur’s shoulder. “This _has_ been a pretty fun November.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I made up the fabled "Hoax" Destiel fanvid, but I just went and checked YouTube, and there really IS one! God, what a world. <3


End file.
